


Good Morning to Your Nightcap

by Crysania



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: Another small town to stop in. More friendly faces she'll leave soon enough. But then Rey stumbles into the local Irish traditional music session that Finn convinces her to stop by and there she meets Ben Solo, who absolutely in no way will ever let her play her drum athissession. The Reylo Irish traditional musicians enemies to lovers St. Patrick's Day fic you never asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

She stops on the side of the road near the sign marking the town.  Falmore, New York. Population 3497. She likes the name, speaks to her love of all things Irish, and especially the music. It seems like as good a place as any to stop for the time being. She’s been on the road for the past few years, stopping in various towns, picking up odd jobs, and then packing up and going on her way. She likes it that way. Lots to see, lots to experience, no ties to anyone.

It’s not that she’s _anti_ social, not really. Rey likes people well enough.

But people disappoint.

People _leave you_.

They abandon you in the parking lot of Walmarts when you’re only five and can’t fend for yourself. _We’ll be back, sweetheart_.

But then they aren’t. They never are. And so she leaves before others can leave her.

She finds a café on Main Street and orders up the biggest sandwich she can find on the menu. Her eyes almost bug out of her head when the waiter drops it off at her table.

“I told you to order the half size,” he says.

Rey laughs. He doesn’t know her, clearly. “I’m celebrating.”

“Celebrating what? Needing another pant size?”

“That’s rude, Finn,” she says with a frown.

He looks panicked, his dark eyes almost comically wide, as he glances back toward the tiny woman currently seating an older couple on the other side of the diner.

“I can call you Finn, right?” she continues on with and takes a bite of the sandwich. Her eyes almost roll back in her head. It’s _amazing_. Just the right amount of seasoning on the chicken, enough ham to be present but not overwhelm, mayo and mustard and some sort of “special sauce” that she’ll eventually finagle out of someone. And pickles. Loads of pickles. Because one can never have too many pickles on a sandwich.

“Are you ok?” he answers.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves him away as she takes another bite of near-orgasmic bliss.

Finn is back in a few minutes to refill her water glass. She’s already nearly halfway done with the sandwich. You learn to eat fast when that food can be taken away at any moment. “You’re…”

“I was joking,” she interrupts him with.

“Joking…”

“About your being rude. You’re a good waiter.”

He smiles than and she likes that. Making people happy. She hasn’t made a lot of people happy in her life, so she cherishes every one of those moments.

“Thanks,” he says.

He seems to finally take notice of the instrument case she has half-tucked under the seat. She won’t leave it in the car. Instruments made of wood don’t fare well in the chilly weather of Upstate New York.

Finn touches the hard case with his toe. “What’s that?”

“It’s my bodhran,” she says and then realizes just what she said. “Oh…right, sorry. It’s a type of Irish drum…”

“I know what it is,” he says and he almost sounds _breathless_. “I play box.”

She blinks up at him. _Box_ is what other Irish musicians call a button accordions. She hasn’t heard the term in some time. She certainly doesn’t expect to hear it _here_ , in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere New York. But she supposes it _was_ named after an Irish town, so why not?

“Well, aren’t we just two peas in a pod,” she mutters. “The most hated instruments in the music.”

He laughs. “You forgot banjo.”

“I don’t play that.”

He shrugs. “Too bad. We don’t have one of those.”

“We?”

“There’s a session here.” And now his voice sounds excited. “Every Friday night. Down at Murphy’s Pub.”

“Is it open to anyone?” She’s been to her fair share of sessions and no two are alike. Some are open to any musician, beginner to advanced. Some are exclusive. Some are even paid, either with food and drink or actual money. She’s never been to one of the latter and has always wondered what that must be like. She plays the music because she loves it, but free food or a bit of money would sure be nice.

For a moment Finn’s eyebrows draw low. “I don’t know. No one new has come to it since I moved here.”

“No? How long ago was that?”

“Few years now. I found out my Nana lived here and so…here I am! You should come. On Friday, that is.”

Her hand reaches out to touch the top of her bodhran case. “I’d like that. Maybe I’ll just come and watch?”

Finn shrugs. “Whatever works for you. The leader, well, whatever you want to call him. He’s Ben, plays fiddle…”

“Because of course he does,” Rey says with some amusement. The leaders are _always_ fiddlers.

Finn laughs. “Yeah…I guess. It’s just, he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Because of _course_ he is.”

“I don’t think he means to be. He just has _issues_ , you know. But it’s just…good to know, right?’

“Right.”

“Finn!” comes the voice from across the room and Rey looks over to see the tiny woman shouting at him.

“Oops, Maz is calling. I better get back to work! I’ll see you Friday…maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe.” 

* * *

 

And so this is how Rey finds herself, Friday evening, sitting at the only bar in town. She finds a high table that’s not too close to where the session musicians are setting up, but not too far either. She wants to see their dynamic before she even approaches about the possibility of playing. Her drum is tucked securely at her feet, out of the way of any who might pass her table, but also hidden from the session musicians’ view.

She’s long since learned to be hesitant.

If she played fiddle or flute, she’d be welcome at any session in the world. Bodhran though? Well, there’s not many instruments that are worse in some people’s eyes. Spoons, perhaps, and she thinks of the song that references murdering a spoons player in gruesome detail.

So she hides and watches.

There are a couple folks setting up. A red-haired flute player who’s carefully setting his instrument on the table, adding a bit of cork grease to the joints before putting it together. She’s delighted at the first notes that come out of the instrument, sweet and mellow. She thinks she’ll enjoy listening to him.

There are a couple fiddle players milling about, tuning up their instruments and taking seats. She notices they all avoid the seat that sits at the head of the table, the one that looks out on the rest of the small pub.

Then Finn shows up and she waves at him. “You made it!” he shouts as he rushes over to her table. “Did you bring your…” He’s looking around the table with a furrow between his brows.

“Yeah,” she says quickly. “It’s here. But you know…”

“Right. Ben should be here soon.”

“I take it that’s his seat?”

Finn lets out a little huff of laughter. “Yeah. And don’t anyone dare take it or they’ll experience his wrath.”

She laughs along with him, but she notes a weird bit of tension in his laugh, as if he’s half-joking, but also really means it. “Go play.” She waves him off to the table. “I’m just going to watch for awhile.”

Finn nods and finds his own seat at the session table.

The musicians all have a good camaraderie, it seems. They’re people who are used to playing together. It’s an important part of sessions, as important as the music, really. _Craic_ , they call it. A proper session has good craic as much as it has good reels and jigs. She’s glad to see that this session seems to have the former and, she hopes, a good bit of the latter. What she can hear from the smattering of tune bits as the musicians warm up has her looking forward to it.

“Ben!” she hears one of the fiddlers call out. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“And why the fuck would you _ever_ think that?” comes a voice from somewhere behind Rey. That _voice_. It sends a slight shiver up her spine. She shifts on her seat and looks back over her shoulder to finally see this mysterious session leader who is apparently _enough_ of an asshole that Finn felt he had to warn her about him.

He emerges out of the darkness behind her and she _almost_ has to gasp. He’s tall. Huge, really. With long dark hair and eyes that are far too serious. His generous mouth is set in a line as he lets out a huff of annoyance. He moves past Rey, glancing at her for just a moment before continuing on. She feels a bit of the air around her sucked out at that gaze.

_Fuck_.

She watches as he tosses his case on the table to remove his fiddle. His hands are as massive as the rest of him and she wonders how he even manages to play the fiddle, but the first notes that come out of the instrument clearly show someone who has a command of it. He’s the leader, after all, and that must mean something.

When he sits, the whole session snaps to. They’re ready to play and Rey takes a sip of her beer, intending to enjoy the music and relax for a little while.

* * *

She’s on only her second beer, feeling pretty mellow as she watches the session long into their second hour of playing, when Finn takes a break to come over to her.

“Hey, you wanna come play?” He sits at the high table with her.

“Am I allowed to?”

Finn glances over where their fearless leader is still playing, fingers flying over the fiddle. His style is aggressive, each note punctuated with a crunching of the bow that gives it all a drive and rhythm of its own. Irish traditional music is really one of those strangely fascinating types of music to most people. It’s fairly common to see guitars at sessions, but they’re not _needed_. The music, when properly played, is its own rhythm.

And even though she plays a rhythm instrument, she recognizes that. Her instrument is inherently not needed. But it adds something to the texture when played right. Ben might play a little too fast, a little too aggressively, but he has the rhythmic part of it down. But she can hear the sound of her drum underneath it and she _knows_ it would complement him well.

Ben finishes with a flourish and she watches as he goes to pick up his pint glass, which has been empty for quite some time. He grimaces and then stands, stretching and _fuck_ if the buttons on his shirt don’t look like they’re going to pop right off. He clearly has other hobbies besides just playing fiddle, if the muscles on his chest are anything to go by.

“Come on, let’s go talk to Ben.”

She finds herself dragged off her stool to follow Finn. He grabs at her hand to tug her over and she pulls back. “Don’t,” she starts to say and Finn just offers her an apologetic look as he steps up to the bar. He’s enthusiastic and his playing is as well. He smiles the entire time, eyes open and wide as he watches the other musicians for cues.

“Hey, Ben,” Finn starts to say and the man in question’s eyes focus first on Finn and then on Rey, who’s still standing slightly behind him.

“This is Rey,” Finn says, pulling her forward.

She shrugs away from him again. It’s natural, this need to _not_ be touched.

“Your girlfriend doesn’t seem to like you much,” Ben says, voice full of dark amusement.

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

Ben just offers a little grunt and returns to staring at the bartender, as if that will make his pint materialize faster.

“She plays bodhran,” Finn says.

“No.” Ben doesn’t even look up as he speaks.

Rey’s eyebrows shoot up. “Pardon me?”

“We have no need of any _bodhran_ player.” He puts air quotes around the word bodhran. _Air quotes_.

“I do actually play.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“No, I mean, I know _how_ to play. I’m not some…”

“Look,” Ben says and now he’s looking at her, sizing her up. She feels raked over the coals, as if he’s burning through her flesh and getting right to the heart of her. “We’ve had plenty of your kind here.”

“My _kind_?” Her voice turns loud and strident and out of the corner of her eyes, she can see some of the patrons at the bar turn to look at them. A beer and a show, as it were.

“Yes. You see, ‘bodhran’ players are a dime a dozen. Everyone who’s ever been to a ‘Celtic festival’ sees some cheap piece of crap drum for sale and thinks they’re the next great Irish musician. And then they come _here_ and they bang on their drum and we’re expected to sit and take it. Well, _no._ No thank you. We don’t need it.”

Rey just stares. What else is she supposed to do?

“Wow, Solo, that was harsh.” Finn is looking between them.

“Accurate,” he shoots back with.

“You don’t even know if she can play.”

He gives her this _look_. If she were someone who had less backbone or someone who even cared what he thought of her, she’d probably wither beneath that gaze. 

“I know.” And then he’s gone, grabbing his pint and stalking back to his seat with this heavy gait that Rey finds strangely attractive despite herself.

“Well, fuck,” she mutters.

“I’m so sorry.” Finn looks near tears as he reaches out a hand to touch her shoulder. She barely notices, her eyes still narrowed on where Ben Solo has picked up his fiddle and started a tune. No one is playing _with_ him, but that scarcely seems to matter. His eyes are shut and he’s involved in the intricacies of a tune she recognizes as _Julia Delaney’s_. It’s too damned fast but she knows what he’s doing, showing off at such a speed that most bodhran players would struggle to keep up. “You can come over to my place sometime and we can play some tunes,” Finn is saying and she finally tears her gaze away from Ben to look back at him.

“Did you think I was giving up?”

Finn blinks once, twice. “What?”

“You think I’m caving to _that_?” She points one finger at where he’s still showing off. “Think again.” And she takes another sip of her beer, leaning forward on the table and smirking.

When Ben finishes his solo tune set, he turns to glance at her. There’s a smirk on his face for just one moment, but it vanishes quickly enough when she holds up her pint in a sarcastic salute, and takes a big sip.

Oh no, Rey Jakson is _not_ cowed. Not by the likes of _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bodhran (usually pronounced here in the States as "bow-ron") is an Irish frame drum.
> 
> Falmore, NY does not exist. The name of the town was so picked because I once spent time in a little town near Dungloe, Ireland that was right on the coast. It’s pretty much my favorite place in Ireland besides the Poulawack Cairn in Co. Clare. I set it in NY for no good reason except that I’m from New York state.
> 
> The tunes referenced in this story are all real Irish traditional tunes (including the one that the title comes from!). I’ve added them, along with some other favorites I could see Ben and Rey enjoying, to a playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TyTIFu6sexfbZ9rKZHYsP).
> 
> The first tracks contain the tunes that I mention in the fic. The latter are just some tracks off some of the albums I really love and also include tunes for flute (Hux) and accordion (Finn). I’m happy to offer up a list of my favorite albums, so always feel free to ask! My e-mail address is listed in my profile. And you can also find me on Tumblr as spottytonguedog.
> 
> And yes, I do play the music. Like Rey, I play bodhran (I also play whistle). My husband is the fiddle (and banjo and guitar and mandolin) player (but he’s really NOT the dick that our friend Ben is…though we’ve both experienced our fair share of really awful bodhran “players” stopping into our local Irish session, including one amazing guy we termed “70s hair bodhran guy” who showed up with not one, but TWO bodhrans and played the second one with a foot pedal from a drum set…it was HORRIFIC…I mean, this was like 13-14 years ago and I still shudder when I think of him). The session in a couple of the moodboard images are from pictures from our local session (if you look carefully at one of them, you'll see me and my drum!).
> 
> I’d be remiss without offering up the Spoons Murder song mentioned in chapter 1 (and again later!). Because it’s really freaking hilarious and imaginative and fun. You can listen to it on Youtube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_11JDYcZX44).


	2. Chapter 2

“What _were_ you thinking, Finn?” Ben Solo asks when Finn sits down and pulls his box out of the case the next week. Finn is usually someone who has a good head on his shoulders. He thinks, at least. It’s not like Ben is particularly close to anyone at the session. But he’s never seen Finn step out of line at session and do something so stupid.

He didn’t think he was one to fall for a pretty face.

Well, come to think of it, he didn’t think he was the type to fall for _that_ type of pretty face. He’d seen the way he’d been making eyes at one of the bar patrons. The guy showed up every damned week lately and he’s pretty sure that it’s reciprocated. But what the hell does he know? It’s not like he’s had a relationship that lasted for more than a couple dates.

And the girl, _Rey_ was her name, had certainly been pretty, in that sort of tomboyish girl next door way he never thought he found particularly attractive and yet apparently does.

“Me?” Finn says and there’s a bit of a squeak to the edge of his voice. “I thought it would be nice to welcome her to town.”

“God, is she staying?” He rolls his eyes at the thought. He figured she was someone passing through. Finn met a fair amount of people at his diner job, a few who had stopped in to listen, never to play.

“She may. Though I don’t know about now…”

“Good,” Ben says with a huff. The last thing they need is some pathetic Celtic wannabe sticking around town. It’s a weird thing, really. Half the country considers themselves “Celtic” and thinks that gives them license to get involved. He likes them on the other side of the table, drunk and appreciative, not on _his_ side of the table. Usually drunk. And annoying.

Ben’s about to speak again when something near the door catches his eye.

_Her_.

What the…

She’s back, drum in hand and that damned smirk still on her face. She’d watched the entire rest of the session the last time with the same look. And it had alternately sent shivers of annoyance down his spine and a strange sort of heated lust that settles right in his damned groin.

The first woman he has to be attracted to in God knows how fucking long and it’s some damned Celtic wannabe with her stupid drum and her stupid smirk.

_Fuck fuck fuck_.

She makes a beeline for the session table, stopping to smile sweetly at Finn, chatting with him for a few moments before she smacks her fucking case right down in the middle of the table.

Hard.

“What the fuck are you after?” Ben explodes with and then leans back, jaw clenching, hand forming into a fist and hitting his own thigh a little harder than he intended.

“After?” she asks and there’s this sort of false sweetness to her voice as she finally looks at him.

God he is _so_ fucked. She looks damned beautiful, eyes wide and her smile is far too bright. Everything about her is too bright, frankly, and he finds himself gravitating to her like a moth to a flame.

_Fuck_.

“I thought you understood last week.”

“Oh yes, of course. Me and my bodhran aren’t welcome. Yes, you did make that quite clear, didn’t you?” She leans forward, hand still on the handle of her case. “Well, never you mind. I’ll just be right over there.” She turns and points at the table she had occupied the previous week. “Watching.”

With a smirk, she grabs her case and he’s _sure_ that she meant to hit him with it as it smacks into his shoulder as she turns to walk away.

* * *

Every time he looks up, she’s watching him. Every. Damned. Time. He doesn’t know if she’s spending the whole session staring at him or if he just happens to catch her at it, but either way it’s unnerving.

He’s in the middle of a tune, _The Silver Spire_. It’s not his favorite, but it’s a good solid tune and if he can push them a little harder, faster, it at least becomes difficult. And besides, he can run it right into _Drag Her Round The Road_ , like the great Tommy Peoples did. As soon as the second tune starts, he glances over at _her_ without even thinking about it and she raises one eyebrow as soon as his eyes meet hers.

And his finger slips.

He loses his rhythm for just a moment, stumbling over the notes of the familiar tune.

And her fucking smirk turns into an outright grin.

_Does she know the damned tune?_ That’s not possible, he’s sure of it. If she knows the tune, then…it doesn’t bear thinking about. She can’t possibly recognize it and that’s that.

With a snarl, he tosses the fiddle down on the table, a little harder than he’d really have liked to, and stalks over to her. “Just what the fuck are you doing?” The words explode out of him. His anger is legendary. The fact that he’s still allowed in the bar is by the grace of the owner alone. He’d once gotten into a fight, one that put the other guy in the hospital for the night. He’d been arrested and thankfully no one had pressed charges. But it was a good year before Amilyn Holdo, the owner, had allowed him return.

“I’m watching a session?” she offers up and he _knows_ the confusion on her face is completely fake. Her voice drips with sweet sarcasm and she shrugs. _Shrugs_. Like this is nothing.

“No, you’re watching _me_.”

“Am I?”

He snarls something unintelligible. Then – “You are. Every time I look up. Every single fucking time.”

“Maybe you’re watching me.”

“Why would I watch you?” he explodes with. “You’re nothing.”

She draws in a sudden breath and yes _there_ , he thinks he has her. She’ll leave. Finally.

“That’s not nice.” There’s a strange undercurrent to her voice that he doesn’t want to understand.

“I’m not a nice man.”

“So I hear.”

He’s taken aback by that. “You hear?”

She nods. “I do believe someone described you as an asshole.”

“Who said that?” He tries to rein back the anger, letting his hand clench into a fist. “I mean…”

“You’d love to know, wouldn’t you?” She leans toward him then and it takes everything in him to not lean back and away from her. “Would you be mad at them…or maybe be happy?”

“I…”

“Why don’t you just go back to your session? I have another pint to enjoy.”

And he does.

He doesn’t know why. But damn her to hell and back, he slams his fist down on her table and she doesn’t even _flinch_. And then he does exactly what she asks and goes back.

This is so fucking stupid.

* * *

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he asks Finn during one of their breaks between tunes.

Finn looks up from his box. “What was me?”

“The one who called me an asshole. To Rey.”

Finn’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s Rey now, is it?”

“It’s her name, isn’t it?”

He watches as Finn shakes his head and looks back down at his box. “Why does it even matter?”

“It doesn’t,” he says quickly. But it _does_ and he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he wants to get to know her. It’s not like he even cares what she thinks. Why would he? She’ll be gone before they know it, forgotten before she’s even the next town over.

“Then pick a tune and play something,” Hux says, one of his hands on his flute as he sneers at him. _Let him_. What does Ben care about Hux anyway? He’s been a thorn in his side ever since he started the session there. If he wasn’t so damned good on the flute, he’d have tossed the ginger out on his ear by now.

With a shrug, he launches into a reel by fiddler Ed Reavey, _Maudabawn Chapel_. He knows it will irritate Hux beyond belief as it’s not a flute-friendly tune, goes far beyond the range as it winds around the fiddle with some chromatic tones. He takes it at a fast, almost brutal pace. He likes the crunch of it that way, bouncing his bow against the strings to make that distinctive Donegal _crunch_ that his playing is known for. He likes reels. Likes them far better than any other tune. They fit under his fingers and the drive of them fit _him_. Fast, crunchy, _harsh_ almost. He likes to fly through them, his left hand dancing across the strings, bow arm flying.

And then his gaze is drawn up to _her_. She’s still watching intently, except now he sees her tapping her foot and moving her right hand like she’s holding a damned tipper.

Who does she think she’s fooling anyway? He will not have a bodhran at their session. Truth be told, he’s not really fond of the guitar player who wanders in on occasion, always thankful when he doesn’t see the man’s case on his way to the table in the back. He likes the music _pure_. Fiddle alone will do it for him, but flute, box, whistle, pipes, nothing more. The melody as it bobs and weaves, the intricate dance and slight changes each musician makes as they repeat the tune.

The music is a living _thing_. It’s not just dead tunes in a book, not just the way one musician or another plays it. There are the greats of course, and he’s learned from their recordings certainly, but the music lives and breathes and _changes_ as each person puts their own spin on it.

His is fast, driven, aggressive. He plays nothing like the greats, but it’s all an expression of _him_ , as it should be.

He nods at her, raises his foot to indicate the tune is changing, and shuts his eyes. It’s not like it matters. He’s on his own for the moment, but it at least gets their attention. And then he’s off to another tune, _The Wild Irishman_ , even if he’s not exactly Irish. The only sticking point in this whole thing for him. There’s not a bit of Irish blood in him, and it’s something Armitage Hux holds over his head more often than he’d like.

* * *

“You know,” she says almost conversationally as he’s standing at the bar waiting for his next pint. The pub offers them free pints. It’s one of the biggest perks of playing there, besides the tunes and _Craic_. “If you weren’t such a prick and let me play, you wouldn’t have to play all those tunes alone.”

“I like playing alone,” he shoots back.

She says nothing for a moment, just watches him with raised eyebrows. Then – “I just bet you do.”

“What does that mean?” He cringes at the sound of his own voice. Defensive.

“You don’t seem to have many friends.”

“I have plenty of friends.” And just where the fuck is that drink he ordered. He wants to escape back to the table and his instrument.

“Do you? Who? That flute player? He doesn’t seem to like you much.”

He shrugs. “Armitage? He doesn’t like anyone.”

“And neither do you do.”

He hates how right she is. “No,” he says at last. “I can’t tolerate most people.”

He can feel her eyes on him as he turns away and wraps one hand around the beer the bartender had pushed in front of him. “It’s a strange thing, really,” she says.

And damn her, but he turns _back_ to her and finds himself speaking before he can even pull the words back. “What is?” At least they _sound_ annoyed.

She laughs though, this sweet sound that cuts right through him. Why couldn’t she be some hideous hag? Or worse, have the personality of, say, Armitage Hux? No, she’s beautiful and forthright and _strong_. She doesn’t even flinch as he looms over her, eyes narrowed. “You hate people and yet you’re the one in charge of this little ragtag band of musicians.” She waves one hand at the table, where Finn has just launched into _The Ballydesmond_. Fucking polkas. Finn loves the damned things ( _Well, I do play accordion after all!_ ) and every chance he gets to play one, he will. Which means that every single time Ben gets up to get a pint, Finn gets one going. It’s become a bit of a silent competition. Can Ben time his rush to get his pint so Finn doesn’t have time to finish the tune they’re currently playing and start another one before he gets back into his seat?

He lost this time.

Of course he did.

Because _she_ is there.

“Not a fan of polkas?” she says and it’s like she can read his damned mind. He must have visibly startled because she laughs again and he _will not_ admit how pleasant and musical that laugh of hers is. “It’s all over your face.” When he grimaces, she just continues to smile. “You’re really quite expressive…”

“Maybe I should wear a mask,” he mutters.

“No, I don’t think that would suit you at all.” And she looks _serious_ about it, as if he actually meant anything by it. But he remembers his father all too well, _you’ve got to learn to hide your emotions, kid_. And it’s always bothered him that he never did learn that from the old man. There wasn’t much he _wanted_ to learn from his gruff father, who lived on the edge of the law and often threw caution to the wind in ways Ben could never quite understand. But that was one thing.

He tries to school his face into that mask of indifference he’s worked so hard on over the years, staring at his uneven face with his too-feminine lips and too-large ears and too-prominent nose for hours in the mirror, attempting to perfect something that has never gotten near to perfection.

It fails.

Again.

Of course it does.

Rey just smiles. “I don’t think you’re as scary as you think you are.”

He wants to say something else. He has no idea _what_ , but he starts to speak and then slams his mouth shut. He glares at her for a moment before grabbing the striding back to the table as he should have done when the bartender first put it in front of him.

He hears her laugh and he’s pretty sure she might have called him a coward.

He’s _not_ a fucking coward. He just has better things to do than keep talking to her.

Even if she really is very pretty.

_Damn her_.


	3. Chapter 3

The more she watches him, the more she’s sure there’s more Ben Solo than she originally thought. She’s been studying him at the last couple sessions she’s been to, almost as if she’s some sort of scientist and he the wild creature she wants to learn more about.

Social abilities? Somewhat there. He’s in a group, but still set apart.

Aggression? That’s _definitely_ there. She can see it in the set of his shoulders, the narrowed eyes, but like the dog one of her foster parents had, there’s this sense of fear behind it. He backs away rather than confronts. She’s sure if pushed to his limits he’d fight back, but there’s something _there_ that tells her that it’s all reactionary aggression. He’s strangely uncomfortable here at the session he apparently started.

Mating rituals? Well, maybe that one is better left for someone else. Not that he’s unattractive. Quite the opposite really. He’s tall and broad and there’s something in the forceful nature of his playing and the way his plush lips press together that definitely does _things_ to her.

_God, it really has been too long_.

She can barely remember the last guy she had been with. What was it now? Two years? Three? She’s been on the run from her former life so long that she barely has any sense of how much time has passed. Drifting in and out of towns, stopping by sessions, never making any permanent friends. It all just ends up with everything blurring together.

If she were someone else, she might consider getting a Facebook account and trying to keep track of her life there. But that _connects_ her too much. And she’s not quite sure she’s ready for that.

Social? Yeah, she gets the “part of a group but _not_ ” thing. That’s how Rey has always felt. One of many foster kids kicked around the system, often the new kid, and then the old kid, and then the one no one wanted to keep. She’s never been one for trouble, really tried to keep her head down, but trouble often seems to find her. She champions the downtrodden and so getting in fights was the story of her young life.

But still, she wants to play with this group. The session really is very nice, outside of Ben Solo’s snarkiness. She’s gathered from the way Finn talks that it’s an offshoot of another session from the next town over. There it’s the same tunes week after week, full of fiddlers who never seem to improve, and are happy just sawing away at their instruments. Finn even made the suggestion that maybe she might consider _that_ session, just to save herself from Ben Solo’s wrath.

Really, Finn is sweet. Definitely one of the good guys. She finds his company at the diner more than acceptable and she’s happy when he opens up about that guy at the bar he’s been making eyes at for months but is too afraid to approach, and about the guitar player he might have a bit of a crush on too. Rey finds out she plays at the other session, though she occasionally drops in just to needle Ben. Because Ben tolerates the guitar only slightly more than he does the bodhran.

But oh, Ben Solo does not know what he’s in for this time. He might have scared off Finn’s guitar player crush, but he doesn’t scare _her_. She’s frankly dealt with much worse in her life. And so she’s formulated a plan between one session and the next, and as she steps into the pub that night, there’s a mischievous grin on her face.

“Rey!” shouts Jimmy. The bartender has gotten to know her over the last couple weeks. He waves her over toward the tables. “I saved the table for you.”

She shakes her head. “Not this time, Jimmy.”

There’s no one there yet, which is just as she hoped. The table for the session has a “Reserved” placard on it, sitting right in front of Ben Solo’s chair, and it’s there they she turns her gaze. Shoving the placard out of the way, she sets her case down on the table and sits.

She glances over at Jimmy, who’s watching her with wary eyes. “No one…” he starts to say and then clears his throat.

“It’s time to teach someone a lesson.” Her voice is bright, maybe too much really, and Jimmy just shakes his head.

“It’s your funeral,” she hears him mutter. “Something strong this time?”

“Just coffee, I think,” she says, looking around the room. Then – “Yes, coffee. I need all my wits about me for this one.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Her coffee is placed in front of her a moment later and she sets to getting her drum out. She _loves_ this bodhran. Made by an Austrian by the name of Eckermann, it’s everything she could ever want in a drum. Smooth wood shaped beautifully, a nice thick goatskin head. There’s no crossbar on the back, no pegs to interrupt the smoothness of it. It’s deceptive really, such a simple thing, her drum. But it’s achingly beautiful to her and every time she gets it out, she thanks whatever gods might be out there that she happened to be in the right place at the right time and was able to pick it up for a steal.

She has it tuned up, her favorite tipper in hand, when Finn comes walking into the bar. He’s cheerful, as always, speaks a few kind words to Jimmy, before heading her way.

He stops when he sees her, eyes wide.

And then takes a few more steps toward the table.

“Oh, _hell_ no.”

“Hi Finn!” She waves enthusiastically at him.

“Are you crazy, girl?” He’s starting to look a little frantic.

“That’s what I told her,” Jimmy chimes in with from the bar.

“You told me it was my funeral.” The words tumble out of her mouth with just a hint of laughter. _God, this is so much fun_.

“It is,” Jimmy says.

“Haven’t you heard the Spoons Murder?” Finn asks.

Rey laughs. “I don’t play the spoons.”

“Ben’s going to rename it the Bodhran Murder.” She’s really not sure how serious he is, but there’s a just enough darkness to his voice that she finds herself choking back a giggle. _So dramatic_.

“Oh, just sit down.” She waves her hand at his usual seat.

He does so, but hesitantly, as if he’s afraid the seat will burn him. It’s not like _he_ is taking Ben’s seat. But she can see it written all over his face. Sitting is condoning it. Sitting means he’s with _her_ and not with _Ben_.

The ginger flute player, Hux as she’s found they all call him, comes in next and draws up short when he gets to the table. He’s watching her as he sets his case on the table and there’s just a small sneer to his upper lip as he does so. It disappears in an instant, though, replaced with a smirk. “Oh, _this_ ought to be good.”

“Boy what _is_ it with all of you? It’s like you’re all terrified of him…”

“ _I_ am not terrified of him,” Hux says with a sniff.

“Right,” Finn says. “You piss your pants if he looks at you the wrong way.”

Hux sputters a little. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

“You just did,” Finn tosses back, and Rey finds she _likes_ this. She feels like she’s part of the group, the _Craic_ already pretty damned awesome.

With a huff of annoyance, Hux takes his seat and sets to getting his flute ready to play. He’s so _careful_ with it. Rey’s never seen someone so precise with all of his movements. He’s followed the same routine for the past couple weeks, carefully taking it out and inspecting every key with a look on his fact that she’s seen others reserve for their lovers. She certainly knows what it is to love her instrument and to realize at times that it’s the only thing always there for you, and so she finds Hux just a little bit endearing in his own pedantic way.

Finn plays a few notes on his box, tuning up the bellows and warming up his hands. He offers a tuning note to Hux, who takes it. “The bloody guitar player’s not here,” she hears him mutter. “We might as well try to tune.”

Finn shoots him a look and Rey has to bite her lip from chastising Hux for saying such a thing. Truth be told, the “bloody guitar player” is actually damned good. She certainly appreciated listening to her when she dropped by the other session. She finds it a damned shame that a woman of such talent is stuck playing with a group who can’t possibly appreciate just how nuanced her playing is. Maybe she’ll come to this session more often if Rey not only opens the door, but blasts it right off its hinges.

Poe arrives shortly thereafter, pipes in tow. He gives her a huge grin when he sees her sitting there. “About time you joined us, kid!” he says and claps her on the back. He’s a gregarious one, Poe is. She liked him instantly. There’s something about his big smile and bright eyes that she finds welcoming.

“Thanks!” she says, and tries to ignore the way Poe leans just a little closer to her and winks. It’s _not_ that he’s not attractive. He is, rather devastatingly so, but there’s just no _zing_ there…not like with…well…

And then she sees Hux shift in his seat, his eyes moving off to the left. Finn mutters something she can’t quite make out. And she _knows_.

It’s show time.

“Come on guys, doesn’t anyone have a tune?” she’s asking as Ben steps up to the table. She refuses to look at him, just rests her drum on her knee, tipper in hand. “Finn? Poe?”

“No,” she hears Ben say. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her, hot and annoyed.

“Oh God,” Finn mutters and crosses himself.

“You’re not even Catholic,” Rey mutters as she leans a little closer to him.

“If it wards off the devil, I’ll convert.”

She laughs. “Oh come on, guys.

“No,” she hears Ben say again, and so with an exaggerated sigh, she finally looks up at him. She has to admit, if she were someone with a weaker constitution, she’d probably scramble out of her chair and apologize profusely for upsetting him and then hightail it out of the pub as fast as her legs could carry her. But _that_ would not be Rey. She doesn’t back down, which is why she still has that scar just at the edge of her mouth, and that other one on her arm from the red hot poker she’d once been attacked with.

Nope.

Rey has _never_ backed down. And she certainly isn’t going to _now_.

“Oh hi there, Ben!” The words are almost annoyingly bright, but they have the desired effect of causing a furrow between his brows. “Care to join us?”

Now _that_ strikes a nerve. She can see the way the corners of his mouth pull in tight, the way those generous lips of his flatten. “Care to…” he starts to say, his mouth forming around the words as if he’s unfamiliar with their meaning. His face is flushed. Even in the dim bar, she can see the way it spreads from his cheeks down his neck. “This is _my_ session.”

“I thought it was open to anyone.”

“It is…”

“See?”

“No,” he says and slams his fiddle case on the table in front of her. Finn jumps. Even Hux flinches. Rey has to work a little to keep herself completely still and so instead just continues to smile up at him.

“Oh _do_ sit down,” she says in her snippiest voice. He runs one large hand through the strands of his hair and she can see that the flush has spread right up to the tips of his overly large ears.

That _does_ something to her and she feels herself flush a little in response.

_Dammit, girl, get ahold of yourself_.

He leans forward then and yes that _definitely_ does something to her insides. Fuck that bastard anyway. “I would, you see,” he says and it’s strange how the words are almost conversational in tone. “But someone is _sitting in my chair_.” The look on his face turns almost feral.

She lets her smile turn into a bit of a confused frown as she twists in the chair and tries to look at the back side of it. “I don’t see your name on it.”

“Goddammit, Rey, you know what I mean!”

It’s Hux who saves her at that moment. “Just sit down, Solo. You’re making a scene.”

“I…” He says and then slams his mouth shut. His jaw clenches and unclenches and one of his hands tightens into a fist and for a moment, just one tiny moment, she’s afraid he might actually punch someone. Not her. For some reason, she just knows this. He’s staring at her with narrowed eyes and yet she doesn’t think he’d resort to physical violence.

Against Hux, though? Maybe.

But he finally takes a deep breath and slams into the one remaining seat at the table.

Rey lets out a breath.

Finn looks like he’s about to pass out and his knuckles have gone a shade or two lighter where he’s gripping the edges of his accordion tightly.

Poe laughs.

Somehow she’s not surprised at that.

“Tune, anyone?” Rey says as she glances around at the other musicians. Ben sneers where he’s pulling his fiddle out. Oh yes, _this_ is going to be fun. She’s half tempted to start off just hitting the drum as hard as she can. Just to irritate him. But no, she’s going to play like she usually does. With taste, putting down a beat that’s a backdrop to the melody instruments, supporting the tune instead of taking it over.

And she’s going to watch Ben Solo the _whole damned time_.

Oh yes, this ought to be _fun_.


	4. Chapter 4

He hates her.

No.

Maybe that’s not the right word. Hate is a strong emotion and while Ben has always been told he’s _overemotional_ , he doesn’t actually hate her. He saves _hate_ for those who really deserve it.

He’s not even sure he can put a name to it, really. She gets under his skin and drives him crazy and he can’t fucking stop thinking about her. It’s insane, really. She’s this bundle of energy and amused sarcasm, all packaged in very pretty wrapping. Too fucking pretty. Ben Solo is not good with women. He’s had exactly one girlfriend and that was so long ago he barely remembers what she even looked like. And he’s had one very disastrous hook-up since then that he tries hard not to think about.

_Fuck_.

And yet all he can think about is a pair of hazel eyes dancing with amusement as she challenges him.

_Fuck fuck fuck_.

Maybe that’s exactly it. No one challenges him. They pussyfoot around him like he might murder them in their sleep if they look at him the wrong way. He can’t say he doesn’t _like_ it but at the same time, watching Finn ingratiate himself every single week and seeing Hux choking down the snarky replies he hears him mete out to others at the session gets a little tiring after awhile.

And so here she is. Sitting in _his_ chair with her damned drum resting on her knee and grinning at him like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

And this time it’s _him_ choking down his snarky reply as he throws himself into a chair that he doesn’t normally sit in.

It’s disconcerting, really, sitting somewhere _different_. He well remembers college and that _one guy_. The one who sat in a different seat every single class just to throw the entire thing off.  He hated that guy and everything he stood for and when he ended up having to do a group project with the little bastard, he almost sabotaged it just to fuck with him.

So really, maybe it’s not _her_ he hates. It’s _this_. The way she upends everything, throwing everything he knows out of whack. _Changing_ things. Ben is not good at change.

And so he sits in this other seat with his back to the fucking room and _glares_ at her.

He knows that he’s intimidating. He might not be handsome and he’s certainly not any woman’s idea of a good catch, but his height and size combined with the dark clothes he favors are enough to send people scurrying out of his path when he walks by. If you can’t be _attractive_ , then you might as well be feared, he supposes.

And yet she doesn’t fear him.

_Clearly_.

Because instead of shrinking away, apologizing, giving him his damned seat back, she smiles at him and cheekily asks about _tunes_.

_Fine_.

He’ll show her a tune.

After a moment, he picks up his fiddle, plays a few notes to make sure it’s in tune. And then he looks at her, makes sure he has her eyes on _him_. He knows he commands respect here, the rest of the group always bowing to his wishes. They’re used to his starting tunes, used to his taking command of it all.

And so they sit. And wait.

She watches him with an eager grin on his face and nods. _Nods_ , as if she is giving him permission to begin. With a snarl, he rips into a tune. _The Kerry Reel_. It’s too fast and he sees Finn roll his eyes and tap his fingers on his box as he sets it back in his lap. Poe leans over and bumps shoulders with Finn and it’s all Ben can do to _not_ roll his eyes. Instead he closes them.

No one matters.

Just the tune.

Hux joins in. He can keep up, fingers flying across the flute even as Ben drives the tune forward, hitting the strings hard with his bow as he digs in. Fiddle and flute. It’s a lovely combination, even if it means Hux is gasping for breathes in the middle of phrases. He’s always liked the way the instruments sound together and he’s completely lost in the sound and the rhythm and flow of the tune.

He becomes aware of it slowly.

Another bit of rhythm below his.

It blends in, plays against his in ways that Hux’s flute can’t, touching the bass tones of his instrument and offering an extra bit of punch that he never quite realized he, well, not _needed_ , but _wanted_.

The third time around the tune, he presses forward, leaning a little more into the bow and letting the speed pick up. Just a hair.

Hux drops out with a snort of annoyance.

And then it’s just him and _her_. He knows it’s her. _Because of course it fucking is_. She’d told him, warned him even, and every moment that he pushes forward, taking the tune to speeds and drive that it never should be taken to, she is _there_ , right under him, as if she’s always been there.

His eyes fly open as the tune comes to a close, that bit of rhythm slowing just slightly with him, playing off his overly dramatic ending like she knows him, knows his style, and knows exactly how to complement it.

_She_ is watching him.

Her tipper is held loosely in her hand, the drum resting almost sedately on her knee.

“How…” he starts to say, but then clamps his mouth shut at the almost soft smile on her face.

He is so completely fucked.

* * *

When Ben had started the tune, Rey almost laughed. She knows _The Kerry Reel_ and she knows it usually drives right forward into _Michael Coleman’s Reel_ , so named for the great fiddler who they probably wouldn’t even _be_ there without his contributions and recordings of the music.

She watches him as he lays into it at a speed just a hair slower than ludicrous. Irish music is meant for dancing. No one could dance to this.

Finn gives up before he begins and Poe does as well, though she suspects that’s as much a case of supporting Finn as anything else. They seem close in ways that go beyond friends and she wonders if one of them will _ever_ make a move.

She lets Hux join in next.

Lets him lull Ben into a false sense of security.

She can almost see it written across his face. He expects her to cave, set the drum down and just give up. Clearly he has completely underestimated her in every way. He thinks she can’t play, some random girl who picked up a drum last week and calls herself _Celtic_. He has no idea that one of her foster parents played the music and thrust a drum into her hand for the first time when she was only nine. _We have no bodhran players…here_. It hadn’t been a suggestion, but a command and it was the only damned foster home that she misses all these years later. The music had spoken to her soul. She has no idea if she’s Irish, but still, it spoke to her and so she carried that cheap old drum he’d given her from home to come, finally purchasing her current drum a handful of years ago.

It’s a work of art, her drum.

And it sounds like one too.

There’s no reaction at first as she slides into the sounds around them. It’s like he doesn’t notice. She knows her place in a session. Don’t overpower the melody instruments, support and accent. She’s there to _add_ to the sound, not to take it over.

But then she sees the furrow between his brows as she hits a deep bass note the third time through the tune, just a tiny little line forming between those dark slashes of brows, so small that someone would miss it if they weren’t as completely focused on his reactions as she was.

He knows something is up.

But his eyes remain closed and he digs in just a little further, pushing the music to an almost punishing speed. She’s right there with him every damned step of the way. _Her_ eyes are open and she smikes as she looks around the table. Finn looks like he swallowed a rotten egg. Poe is grinning like a damned bastard. She doesn’t know him really, just exchanged a few pleasantries before and after the sessions she’s dropped into, but she’s pretty sure he does _not_ like Ben Solo. Hux is watching her with a calculating look on his narrow face.

It’s both hilarious and exhilarating at the same time and she wants to laugh out loud. Instead, she just digs in, concentrates, feels the rhythm of the tune, the particular turns that Ben makes as he ends the B section of the tune and returns to the A. She adds rolls under those crunchy sounding ornaments and speeds up as he winds through the tune again.

She _loves_ this music and Ben might be an asshole, he might play at a ridiculous speed, but he _gets_ it and he’s exciting to play with.

When the tune finally comes to a close, one final dramatic flourish of his bow more worthy of a classical player than an Irish one, she leans back and rests her drum lightly on her knee.

And then she watches.

And waits.

Ben finally takes the fiddle away from his chin and opens his eyes. He finds her immediately. His eyes are wide and those generous lips of his are parted in surprise. She watches as he takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling once before he speaks. “How…”

Or tries to.

“I told you,” she says and plasters a smile on her face.

He doesn’t sneer. Not this time. His right hand clenches and unclenches on the neck of his fiddle. “I need a fucking beer,” he finally says, setting his instrument down and stepping away from the table before she can say anything.

“Wow,” Finn says. “You’re good.”

Rey shrugs. “Thanks. I just play…”

“No, really.” Poe says. “You’re _really_ good. I think our dear friend Ben has no idea what to do with you now.”

“You just completely blew his expectations out of the water,” Finn exclaims and now she _is_ laughing. Because it really is funny. They played an absolutely gorgeous tune set, one that spoke to years of playing together and not just their first time. And it was glorious and fucking amazing and if she’s going to be honest with herself, quite a bit of a turn-on.

Really, there’s nothing better than a talented man who knows how to use his fingers and has a rock solid rhythm and a flare for the dramatic.

She has to stop her mind from wandering to images of his pressing her up against the wall, taking her over that session table. _God, it really has been too fucking long_. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head a little, pushes those thoughts away. She doesn’t need them right now.

Maybe later when she’s alone.

But not _now_. Not when he’s _here_.

“Right,” she finally says. Setting her drum down on the table, she gets up and heads to the bar. Ben is still standing there and he looks…well, she’s not sure. Annoyed, maybe. A little dumbstruck. When she steps up next to him, he turns to look at her and then flinches.

When she meets his eyes, his slide away almost immediately.

“Not what you expected,” she surmises.

He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. Then – “No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He says nothing further, just drums his fingers on the bar.

“It was just one tune,” he says at last.

“And it’s going to be more.” Her voice goes up slightly at the end. It’s not quite a statement, not quite a question. She intends for there to be more tunes, Ben Solo be damned.

A snort. “I suppose.”

She waits for him to say more, but his mouth is clamped tight together, jaw clenched. The bartender hands him his beer and he wraps one large hand around it, gripping it tight enough that she can see the whites of his knuckles.

“Are you really going to do this?” The words come out with a bit more force than she intended.

And _now_ he’s looking at her. “Do what?” There’s honest confusion behind the words.

“ _This_ ,” she says, waving her hand between them. “You were wrong.”

“I was wrong,” he echoes.

“About me?”

“Sure.” He offers up a shrug and she wants to _scream_. Instead her breath comes out on an annoyed huff.

“So you’re not going to apologize?”

He stares at her and his look is absolutely _blank_ , as if the entire concept is foreign to him. No, as if the _word_ is, like he doesn’t know what it even means. And not for the first time she wonders what has made him this way. Bitter and standoffish, antisocial except when it comes to a few tunes once a week. She’s not seen him around town at all, not at the diner that she’s taken up washing dishes at, not at the little town library she enjoys reading at. She’s been told he works “out of town” but that’s about all she knows of him outside of his love for fiddle, his hatred of the bodhran, and that she finds him way too attractive for his own good.

“So I guess the answer to that is no.”

One side of his lips raises slightly in a sneer and she can’t help but roll her eyes at him. “Whatever,” he starts to say and then slams his fist on the table. “You can…play with us…I guess.”

And then he grabs his pint and turns to head back to the table.

“That’s literally the _worst_ apology I’ve ever heard,” Rey calls out after him and he stops. Actually stops. And turns back to her. She’s not sure how to describe the look on his face, somewhere between exasperated and annoyed with a good chunk of…wait…is that _embarrassment_ there? Yes, she’s sure that there’s color on his pale cheeks and when he runs one of those massive hands of his through his hair, the tips of his overly large ears are the same shade of red.

“Fine,” he says. “ _Sorry_.” She’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean it, but she smiles anyway. “Will you just sit down and play already?”

Well, that’s maybe better than an apology. He knows he was wrong. She can’t ask for much more. She watches him for a moment more, the eyebrows drawn low, the clenched jaw, the hand a little too tight around the pint of beer he hasn’t set down yet.

“Sure thing,” she finally says. “I’ll even give you back your seat.”

And he looks like he’s going to _explode_ , but instead, grabs his fiddle off the table and stalks back to his usual place, finally sitting down and setting his beer in front of him.

It’s a victory. A bit hollow, as he’s staring at her with just as much annoyance as he did in the beginning. But she gets to play. And beneath that irate stare there’s something _else_. Something she can’t quite identity.

Something, really, that she finds she _wants_ to identify.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count keeps going up! Sorry about that -- but chapter 7 really is going to be the last one, I promise! Thanks for being along for the ride everyone!

She misses session the next week. It’s not that she doesn’t _want_ to go, but the diner is crazy busy and she feels bad that Finn will end up working and missing his beloved session. So she sends him on his way and takes his tables for the night. Maz has welcomed her with open arms. She knows she might be temporary, but Maz asks no questions. She’s easy that way, though the knowing looks and the _Maybe what you seek is not behind you, but ahead_ that she tosses at her late one evening is a little unsettling. She’s seen things, that old woman has. Things Rey is not sure she wants to know.

Finn tells her later that the first thing out of Ben Solo’s mouth when he arrives is “What? No Rey?” And Finn isn’t sure if he was relieved or surprised, but there was something else there and while Finn finds that a little terrifying, Rey finds it…well, maybe exhilarating isn’t the right word. But certainly _interesting_ is.

She comes to the next session. Things have died down a bit at the diner, no bus tour this week making a quick stop to eat on their way through, and so Maz waves her off and tells her to go enjoy herself.

She plans to.

She’s not the first to arrive this week. Ben is already there, sitting in his seat. When she steps up to the table, he looks up at her. “You missed last week.” And there’s a strange sort of accusation behind the words.

“I thought you’d be relieved.”

He makes a soft grunting noise. “You’re welcome to play,” he says. Or she thinks that’s what he says at least. He’s playing with the strings of his fiddle and not meeting her eyes and _mumbling_. And God, she _hates_ mumblers.

“I’m sorry,” she says in what’s probably an overly bright voice. “Did you say that I’m _welcome_ to play?”

Then he _does_ meet her eyes and there’s a flash of something behind the look and she feels a little something inside herself twist up strangely at it. “Yes,” he says. When she doesn’t respond right away, he lets out a huff. “You know you can play. So just...” He waves one hand toward her. “ _Play_.”

“Excellent.” And she can’t help the wide smile that breaks out on her face. It’s like she’s made it, in a way, being accepted here by the arrogant leader of this little band of musicians. She’s _accepted_. Frankly, after his original attacks on her, she wasn’t sure he’d ever accept her. So she picks up her drum and nods at him and when he starts a tune, she joins in quickly. He doesn’t even cringe this time.

It’s a win, she supposes.

She returns for the next couple weeks and while she won’t say Ben welcomes her with open arms, he does tell one new musician to bugger off and leave her seat alone. And he includes her in the occasional conversation he gets involved in. He watches her with a strange intensity and the few tunes he lays out of that she plays, she looks up to see him watching her. There’s no anger behind the look, no annoyance. It’s very carefully blank. And she really has no idea what to make of that.

* * *

She’s been at the little book and music store a few towns over more times than she can count during the month that she’s been living in Falmore. There’s nothing _in_ Falmore, really. The diner, a library that’s seen better days, a cute park that she’d enjoy reading in if it weren’t the middle of winter. But a twenty minute drive yields her an _amazing_ assortment of albums.

She has the latest Lunasa album in one hand and an old Solas one in the other hand. They’re both great bands and she’d be hard pressed to say which her absolute favorite was (or maybe that’s Altan or Danú or…). And so she can’t decide. Get one? Or… _get both_? It’s really a common dilemma for her.

“You’re not seriously thinking of buying that schlock?” She jumps at the sound of the voice. _His_ voice.

“Ben!” Her voice is a little breathless as she turns to face him. It’s strange seeing him there in the bright lights of the store. His hair has softer streaks of brown in the middle of all the black. His eyes are lighter, almost honey-colored and framed by dark lashes and eyebrows. The harsh light throws shadows across the uneven features of his face.

And yet still…she’s not sure if the breathlessness is due to surprise or something else. _Oh just admit it, Rey, you’re attracted to the gigantic bastard_. The way he plays the fiddle, well, there’s that she supposes. She’s always been a sucker for talented men.

He nods his head at the albums she’s currently holding.

“You don’t like Lunasa?” They’re one of her favorites, taking traditional tunes and adding harmony and just a touch of jazz. She’s a great admirer of the sort of carefree and fun arrangements of tunes they write. And the group is _tight_. Like _really_ tight, switching sometimes between jigs and reels in the same tune set with absolutely no hesitation. She’s seen them in concert once before and they were just as tight in person. There’s no studio tricks there. They’re insanely talented and incredibly fun to watch.

He offers up a shrug. “I like pure drop trad.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve never heard Lunasa, have you?”

He stares at her for a moment. “I like pure drop trad,” he repeats.

“Oh my _God_. You haven’t. You’ve probably never heard Solas either.”

“I listen to Michael Coleman,” he offers up by way of explanation.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s all well and good, but it’s a _living_ tradition, my friend, and he died over seventy years ago.”

“He’s where this all started.”

“It _started_ long before him,” she shoots back with.

“But he’s one of the earliest recordings we have of the music. He’s the fucking _grandfather_ of Irish traditional music.”

“And that’s all well and good,” she admits. She listens to Michael Coleman too. Or she did. She’s more into the modern bands these days than the old masters. “But it’s still a living tradition and bands like Lunasa and Solas are there to carry the torch onward.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles.

“Oh my _God_ , what made you like this?”

“What?” His head shoots up at that at least.

“This.” She waves her hand around. “Arrogant, unbending…”

“I’m not…”

“Which? Arrogant? You certainly are.”

He grimaces. “I may be,” he finally concedes. “But I am _not_ unbending.” He sighs. “Look, how about I make you a deal?”

“A deal? What are you, Rumplestitlskin?”

“What?”

“Nevermind,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Go on.”

“Come back to my place. Bring your Lunasa or Solas or whoever album. We’ll do trading off of music. Pure drop for modern. We both give it a shot.”

“I know who Michael Coleman is,” she shoot back with.

“And how much do you listen to him? Or Paddy Canny? Or Michael Gorman?” She hesitates just a little bit too long and he absolutely _jumps_ on it. “Ah, see!” He thrusts one long finger at her, coming a little too close to poking her in the chest. “You don’t.”

“I _did_ ,” she shoots back with. In her defense, she really has listened to them. Once, a long time ago. She’d been dating a fiddler who introduced her to the music and had made her listen to that stuff for hours. And it’s not like she doesn’t enjoy it. She does, for its pureness and for its part in the tradition if for nothing else. But it’s just not _exciting_. And she’s long since moved on to _exciting_. She likes drive and flow and bounce and while the pure drop stuff is, well, _pure_ , it’s not her favorite.

“Did.” His voice is flat.

“Ok fine. I’ll give it another shot if you’ll listen to Lunasa.”

“Deal,” he says quickly, holding out his hand.

She stares at it without moving and he shifts awkwardly before she finally takes his hand in hers. There’s a spark and she lets out a gasp.

“Goddamit, Rey,” he mutters as he pulls his hand back. “Were you scuffing your feet or something? That fucking _hurt_.”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“I’m not – ” he starts to say. “Oh fuck, whatever. Wait, where are you going?”

She turns back to him. “To check out?”

“Right.”

She rolls her eyes at him as she turns to walk away. But she can feel him right at her heels. “What?” she says as she turns back to him. It’s like he’s a stray dog who won’t leave her alone. God, he even has those ridiculous puppy dog eyes.

“My place?” he offers up.

“Now?” God, did he mean _now_? Now as in _now_ now. She’s pretty sure she should prepare herself for being in close quarters with him.

“Why not? You don’t have plans, do you?”

“And what if I did?”

“Then we’d do it another time. Why are you so fucking _difficult_?” The last is spoken just a little too loud for the store and Rey cringes as a few people turn to watch them.

“Because of _that_ ,” she hisses at him, turning back to the front of the store.

“Rey,” he says as he comes alongside her. “ _Do_ you have plans?’

She sighs. “No.”

“Then?”

“Fine, let me just buy this _schlock_ and I’ll come over.” God what _is_ she doing? This could either be the best thing she’s done…or the biggest mistake of her life. Something tells her there’s no halfway with Ben Solo.

* * *

“No, no _no_ ,” Ben is saying, his lips set in a deep scowl. “You don’t get it. How can you not get it?”

Rey is leaning forward on the couch they’ve ended up on, their knees almost touching. They’re close there, maybe a bit too close. It’s not that the couch isn’t big. It _is_. Frankly, everything in Ben’s apartment is overly large, sized no doubt to accommodate his massive frame. But their arguments over music have drawn them both in close together.

“What’s to get?” she mutters. He’s moved on from Michael Coleman, who they both agree is really the Granddaddy of the modern Irish traditional music. _Everything_ they do can be traced back to his recordings, really. Without him, she’s not sure their tradition would live on in the way it does.

“It’s not necessary.” The words are punctuated by the flailing of one arm. He’s talking about the guitar. Well, guitar and _bodhran_. She’s sure he’s implying the same about her instrument but is surprisingly not actually saying it.

“Why does anything in music have to be necessary? I mean, one might say the fiddle isn’t necessary.” He looks absolutely _affronted_ at that and she laughs. “The fiddle is meant to imitate the pipes. So really, all that’s necessary in the music is the pipes.” She sits back, crosses her arms over her chest. “There. Game over. We can all go home.”

He’s staring at her again with that same look on his face she saw after that very first tune set, lips slightly parted, eyes wide. And then he makes a little huffing noise. “You…”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You may be,” he concedes and she lets out a small whoop.

“And so, in conclusion, _I_ am right,” she says with a laugh. “And you’re wrong, Mr. Fiddler.”  She pokes him lightly in the arm.

“Ouch,” he says and she shakes her head.

“That didn’t hurt.”

“Maybe it did. Maybe I’m _sensitive._ ”

“Ben the asshole? Sensitive?” And now he actually _does_ look somewhat hurt.

“You still think I’m an asshole?” His voice is strangely quiet.

“Oh God,” she manages to get out. “You don’t want me to think…wait…no…you’re actually _enjoying_ this.”

He cringes.

“You are!” And she doesn’t know why there’s this strange bit of warmth that traces down her spine at the thought. The truth is, she is too. It’s not often she gets to argue the merits of certain instruments or bands within the tradition with someone. And certainly not with someone who has such intelligence and musicality.

“You are too,” he points out.

She can feel herself flush, but doesn’t respond. She started to look away, but in a move that seems to surprise them both, one of his hands come up and grips her chin and turns her head back toward him. When she looks up and meets his eyes, there’s an intensity there that she hadn’t been expecting.

“You are,” he repeats. “Say it.”

“I…”

“ _Say it_.” And there’s a desperation there.

“I am,” she admits.

And then she really cannot quite figure out what happened next. Even later, when she looks back on the moment, she has no idea who moved first. But suddenly his mouth is on hers and her hands are in his hair and fuck it all, the guitar and fiddle and everything else is forgotten when that perfect mouth melds to hers.

He’s clearly not practiced at the art of kissing. It’s messy and it takes a moment to figure out who tilts their head what way to avoid bumping noses, but when his tongue slides into her mouth, she absolutely melts against him.

The angle is awkward, sitting side by side on the couch, and so in another move that surprises herself, she pushes up and comes to straddle him, breaking contact for only a moment before kissing him again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters against her lips before nibbling at her lower lip with his teeth and wrapping his arms tight around her.

When they finally break apart, she rests her forehead against his. “Fuck,” he says again. “Rey…”

She pulls back to meet his eyes. “Yes?”

“I didn’t intend for that to happen when I asked you here,” he admits. There’s a flush on his cheeks and at the tips of his ears, where she can see them peeking out from the hair that she’s rather artfully messed up.

“No?” She cocks her head slightly to the side, takes a deep breath. “Do you regret it?”

“Fuck no,” he explodes with and she can’t help it. She leans down to kiss that generous mouth of his again and finds she loves the way it goes soft beneath hers. He lets her take the lead for a moment before she breaks it off again.

“Me neither,” she admits. Really, she supposes it was always going to end up here. She certainly can’t deny that she wanted to climb him like a damned tree from the moment she met him, frustrating and arrogant though he might have been. She takes another breath and can feel herself redden even more. “Bedroom?” She’s not usually this forward but fuck it, she’s straddling his lap and she can feel just how much he wants her, pressing up against her in a way that makes her want to grind down against him.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says with a laugh, and then she squeals when he stands, picking her up with him as he goes. This may not be where either of them intended for this to go, but she’s not going to complain. It’s been a long damned time since she’s felt any sort of connection with someone, and even longer since she felt a strong enough connection for _this_. She’s definitely not going to waste a moment longer worrying about it all. She’s going to fuck Ben Solo for all their worth and finally put an end to that far too long dry spell of hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that I have a Reylo Irish Musicians Playlist for this story [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TyTIFu6sexfbZ9rKZHYsP).
> 
> On it, you will find any of the tunes listed here played by some of the great musicians out there. There is also some tune sets by Michael Coleman, Michael Gorman, Paddy Canny, Lunasa, and Solas, in case you want to get any idea of what the music sounds like!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I've upped the chapter count AGAIN. But this is it, I swear, because it's all written. And it needed a little Epilogue.

She wraps her arms around his waist as he rushes back through the apartment and into a dimly lit room. “Sorry the room’s a mess,” he mutters as he tosses her lightly on the bed.

“Do you think I care about that?”

“My mother always said women would.”

“Let’s not talk about your mother right now?”

“Right,” he mutters. “Should I…” He pauses there, standing at the end of the bed. “I don’t know. Do you want light?”

“Do you?” In truth, she wants to see him, wants to look into his eyes, wants to see the shape of his body. But there’s a part of her that’s always been shy about her _own_ body. She knows she’s not built like the women in Hollywood. Too much of a tomboy, she’s been told. No curves, tiny breasts. She does what she can to enhance them if she’s trying to impress someone. But here she’s just _Rey_ and that makes her a little more uncomfortable than she’d like to admit.

“Maybe one?” He sounds as uncertain about it as she is and there’s something inside her that breaks a little, that feels like she’s connected to him in ways that she shouldn’t be so soon after meeting him.

“Ok,” she says, and he actually smiles. It’s surprising, that smile and it _does_ something to her.

He flicks on the light at the side of the bed and then turns back toward her. He looks…hesitant…all of a sudden, standing there in front of her. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and looks away from her. “We don’t…” he starts to say, clears his throat.

“I want to,” she interrupts with. “Unless you…” She lets her voice trail off. How _does_ one do this anyway? It’s been so long since she’s been involved in any way with someone. The last time it was a random guy she’d known for just a couple hours, a quick fuck and then she’d never seen him again.

She’ll have to see Ben again, unless she wants to skip town before the next session. And she realizes she actually might _want_ to see him again. Strange, that. He’s gone from _that asshole_ to someone she might actually _like_ in just the span of a couple weeks.

“I do,” he says and there’s such fervency behind the words, so honest, so raw, that she stands back up and goes on tiptoe to kiss him softly on the lips.

He lets out a groan as he deepens the kiss just slightly, dipping his tongue into her mouth, soft and slow. She barely notices him stepping back until he’s sitting on the bed and she’s straddling him again, and suddenly she’s all too aware of just how much he really does want her.

One of his hands comes up to trace down the side of her face, touching lightly along the skin of her neck, before hovering over her chest. “Is this…” He clears his throat. “Is this ok?”

She smirks, sitting back a little, grinding herself against him as she pulls her top off, tossing it across the room. Her bra follows a moment later, and she’s gratified to hear him suck in a deep breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“They’re not much,” she starts to say as he runs a finger over one nipple. She arches into his touch and he spreads his hand over the entirety of her small breast.

“Not much? They’re fucking perfect.”

She can feel the flush spread across her chest at the warmth in his voice. He pulls her down to him, wraps those perfect lips around her nipple and laves it with his tongue. Her hands come up to tangle in his hair.

It’s all a rush from there. One moment she’s above him with her hands in his hair. The next, she’s yanking his shirt off of him and tossing it to the ground, admiring just how strong he is as he lifts her up and flips them over so she’s on her back.

“Off,” she mutters, one hand on the waistband of his pants.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He grins at her, standing and pulling his pants down. He gets tangled in them, legs crossing as he tries to kick them off, cursing the entire time.

She giggles.

He stops to glare at her.

“Come on, it’s _funny_.”

“It’s not supposed to be funny,” he shoots back with.

She laughs harder. “It’s not like we’re choreographed actors in a movie or something.”

“Right.” He finally manages to kick them off and is reaching for the band of his underwear when he stops and utters those fateful words. “Oh fuck. I don’t have any condoms.”

“Fuck.” Then – “Wait! I have some.” Being prepared. That’s always been an important part of her life. Be prepared for anything. For the worst, for the best. She spent so much of her life hopping from one foster home to another that she learned to have everything easily accessible, ready to be packed up in a moment’s notice. Nothing left behind. Just another kid passing through homes that didn’t care enough to keep her.

She’s up and out of the room before he can say anything, racing back to where she’s left her purse. It’s a little weird, she realizes, running through his apartment half-naked. But dammit she wants him and she’s not going to give him a chance to start thinking about it all.

Because it’s crazy, right?

Totally crazy.

They hated each other and now they’re about to fuck and she’s still not sure they actually _like_ each other. But what does that matter, really? It doesn’t. Not right now at least. They can sort _that_ out later.

She walks back into the room rifling through her purse. Ben is exactly where she left him, standing sort of half dumbstruck next to the bed.

“Here!” she crows, pulling out a couple of the foil packets. She tosses one to Ben, who grabs it right out of the air, twisting it in his hand and bringing it down into the light.

He squints at it. “Do you have another?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It expired three months ago.”

“Dammit.” She pulls out the other two but she’s sure they all came from the same box and fuck, has it really been so long? “These are too.”

“Fuck.” He flings himself down on the bed and she comes to join him, sitting heavily down next to him. She’s surprised when he reaches out and takes her hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers. It’s a strangely romantic gesture, especially coming from him. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Wait,” she interrupts with. She doesn’t want to think about _meant_ _to be_. Not at this moment. Not at _any_. She’s not sure she’s someone who buys into such things. _Nothing_ is meant to be. She’s no believer in fate. “Pharmacy.”

“Pharmacy?”

“Yes!” She leaps up, grabs his shirt and tosses it at him, throws her shirt back on. No bra. Who cares? They’re just going to run down the road and then get naked again. “Come on, the sooner we go get some, the sooner we get back and the sooner we get back to what we were just doing.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him.

And still he _stares_ at her.

“Come _on_.”

He finally moves, putting his shirt back on. “You really want to do this?”

“Of course.” She’s already moving toward the door, when he reaches out to stop her.

“Rey.”

“What?”

“You’re _sure_?”

“You seem surprised.”

“It’s just…” He runs his hand through his hair. “We didn’t get off on the best foot.”

“Ben,” she says, turning fully back to him, reaching up to put her hands on both sides of his face. “I want to. Yes. And taking a break to get some necessary protection isn’t going to make me want to any less.”

He searches her eyes and then finally leans forward to kiss her gently. “Ok.”

* * *

He has no idea what they’re doing. No idea what _he_ is doing. One moment he’s at a store, looking at CDs. The next he’s back at his apartment jumping into bed with the woman he absolutely is not falling madly in love with.

_Fuck, where did that thought come from?_

And now he’s driving her to the fucking pharmacy to buy _condoms_.

It’s _insane_.

And awkward as fuck, frankly. Clearly they’re both rather severely out of practice, which is why neither of them have condoms that haven’t expired. God, how long do those things last anyway? A year, two, _five_? It’s been at least as long for her as it has been for him, he realizes. It actually makes him feel a little better about the whole thing if he’s going to completely honest with himself. He has so little experience and what he _does_ have happened so long ago he barely remembers it.

It all feels _new_. And that might just be the scariest thing about it all.

He realizes as they’re walking into the pharmacy that he’s still holding her hand and as they step across the threshold, he drops it. And then he feels _bad_ as she gives him a look and holds her hand in close to herself as if she’s protecting it from something, from some _one_.

“I’m gonna pick up a few snacks,” she says.

He stops and stares at her. “Snacks?”

“For _after_.” She says it as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right.”

“You get the…you know.” She waves a hand at him. “Get whatever you like.”

What _does_ he like anyway? He has no idea and the thought of being faced with _types_ is a little bit daunting. “Right,” he says anyway, and she rushes off to find whatever sort of post-coital snacks he imagines she thinks they’ll want.

Ben finds himself in the aisle with the condoms a moment later. He doesn’t actually have any clue what to get. He remembers that standard-size condoms are a bit uncomfortable on him. He knows he’s larger than average. It’s not like he’s not the typical guy, measuring his dick when he’s a teenager to see how he stacks up and all. So he knows what he takes in _that_ way. But beyond that? There’s extra thin ones ( _for more feeling!_ ) and ribbed ( _for her pleasure!_ ). There are flavored ones (he passes those up) and glow in the dark ones ( _seriously?_ ). He’s holding one of the ribbed ones and just a regular box of condoms when he hears a voice come from behind him.

“Ben?” It’s not Rey and so he turns. And cringes. Because of fucking course.

“Finn.” He hates the way his voice sounds frantic and breathless and annoyed all at the same time. _Rey_. He has to keep Finn from seeing Rey, because _fuck_ , if he does. If he puts two and two together. No. Just get the fucking condoms and get out.

“Condoms?” Finn says and Ben wants to slap him for how loud the word sounds in the little pharmacy.

“I’m not celibate,” he shoots back.

“You sly dog,” Finn says and claps him on the back. “Who’s the lady?” At the look Ben shoots him, Finn raises both hands up. “Or dude. Doesn’t much matter to me.”

“None of your business,” Ben mutters, gripping the box of condoms a little harder. Of course Finn wouldn’t find him in a snack aisle or something. No, he has to find him with his hand already holding two different boxes of condoms, so his intentions are more than obvious.

“We’ll find out someday,” Finn points out.

“Not if it’s just a one-night stand.”

Finn crosses his arms over her chest. “Ribbed for her pleasure? I’d say that’s a bit more than a one-night stand.”

Ben growls something unintelligible at him and Finn laughs. _Laughs_. Like Ben isn’t the scary leader of their session. Like he hasn’t done everything possible to stay out from under Ben’s radar when he’s in a bad mood.

“Hey, no skin off my nose!”

Ben is about to turn away from him, rush to the counter and pray that Rey will get her snacks and meet him in the car _long_ after Finn is gone.

But he doesn’t have that kind of luck.

Ben Solo never has.

He remembers once in high school when a bunch of kids skipped class. A teacher had been hot on their heels as they ran out of the mall. The group had managed to get up and over a fence, all of them laughing and escaping back onto school grounds. But not Ben. Oh no, he’d somehow managed to lag just far enough behind that the teacher had grabbed onto his pant leg and yanked him back before he could get up and over that fence. He’d had detention for two weeks.

That’s just his sort of luck.

Which is why he’s rushing toward the counter when Rey steps out of the snack aisle, and – “Finn!” she calls out.

_Fuck_.

“Rey?” Finn sounds honestly confused. At least for the half a second it takes him to realize that their both being there could not just be a weird coincidence. “Wait,” he hears him say.

“Will that be all?” the man behind the counter says.

Ben mutter something, tosses the twenty he’s holding on the counter, and beats a hasty retreat. It’s the coward’s way out.  But Ben Solo has never been brave.

* * *

She realizes about half a second after calling out Finn’s name that it might have been the stupidest thing she’s ever done. Ben is somewhere behind him and it’s pretty clear Finn had been talking to him. She watches him pay for his purchase ( _condoms, Rey, he’s purchasing condoms…for you…and him_ ) and rush out the door. He gives her one quick glance, jerks his head at her, and then disappears.

Disappears.

The fucking coward.

“Rey?” She watches a furrow forms between Finn’s brows. And then he looks back where Ben disappeared. And then back to her. “Oh no _way_.”

She cringes as she approaches him. “Yeah, funny thing!” she manages to get out.

“Funny?”

“Yeah…running into both you _and_ Ben here. I mean, what are the chances?”

“Chances, right.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “What are the chances that you just _happen_ to be here when I know that you don’t even live in this town?”

“Finn,” she starts to say.

“Look, it’s none of my business.” He steps closer to her. “But you’re ok right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She knows what he’s after here. She and Ben hate each other. She couldn’t possibly be here, in this pharmacy, unless under duress.

“You and him? Rey, you can leave with me if you need to.”

“Do you really think Ben is _threatening_ me?”

“So you _are_ here with him.”

“Obviously,” she mutters. She reaches out and puts one hand on his shoulder. “I’m _fine_.” She glances over her shoulder. “And I really should go.”

“Ok Rey. Well, you’re an adult…”

“I am.” She can’t help the amusement that bubbles up. Finn means well and it’s really kind of sweet to see him so worried about her, ready to defend her honor or rescue her from the clutches of the evil beast. “And I’m _fine_.”

Finn watches her for a moment and then finally nods. “Well, if you’re not, call me. Any time.”

He’s so serious that she gives him a quick hug before rushing to the checkout and leaving with her snacks. She knows she really should be embarrassed by all of this, but when she glances out the front window of the pharmacy and sees Ben there in the car, watching the door, she realizes she’s not. She can’t be. Because for some reason it actually feels _right_.


	7. Chapter 7

Ben is already in the car and when she steps up to the door, he looks away.

“Were you watching for me?”

He doesn’t respond, just makes a soft huffing noise and starts the car up.

“You _were_ , weren’t you?” She says the last with a bit of a laugh, but she actually feels _warm_ inside as she says the words.

Ben still says nothing, but takes one hand off the steering wheel to take hers and entwine their fingers. He’s staring straight ahead, won’t even look at her and she’s left feeling that there’s a lot that has gone unsaid between them this evening.

“He knows, you know?”

He finally does turn to her. “I know.” A muscle twitches in his jaw.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Are you?” he shoots back with.

“No.” The word comes out without any hesitation. Then – “This is bigger than we think, isn’t it?”

His eyes are serious as he watches her for a moment more. When he brings her hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss there, there’s a strange, fluttery feeling in her stomach.

He says nothing more, finally releasing her hand to put the car in drive and take off.

When they arrive back at his apartment complex, he doesn’t open the door right away. “It is,” he finally says.

“Is?”

“Bigger.” He squeezes his eyes shut and brings a fist up to his chest. “It _is_.”

“Oh.” How did it come to this? “I feel it too,” she murmurs.

“Do you?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“And so you still want to…” His voice trails off and he lifts up the bag at his side in question.

“Yes.”

He smiles than and there’s that fluttery feeling again. They finally leave the car and make their way back to his apartment. It’s just as they left, her bra still on the floor of his bedroom, the one light still on.

“I feel like I should offer you something,” he starts to say, but she cuts him off by stepping close and putting her hands on both sides of his face.

“I don’t need anything.” She presses a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “Just _you_.”

“Me,” he says and then shakes his head. When he kisses her again, it’s deeper, softer. This isn’t the frantic kisses and yanking off of clothes from before their trip to the pharmacy. Everything is slower, softer, quieter this time. 

He leads her to the bed and without even a moment’s hesitation, she lays down on it, holding out her hand, inviting him to come join her. As he comes to rest at her side, she’s thankful his bed is so massive. He takes up so much room. The bed she’s staying in at the youth hostel is a tiny thing, barely big enough for her, much less a giant like Ben.

His one hand comes down push her shirt up and trace lazy patterns on the sensitive skin of her stomach. She’s surprised to see that his hand is shaking a little.

“Ben?” She puts a hand over his, stopping the path he’s been taking, trying to stop the tremors. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s just been a long time. And…I don’t exactly have a lot of experience.”

She presses closer to him, wraps her arms around him. “Neither do I.”

He nods. “Good.” He cringes. “I mean…it’s good that we’re on the same level.”

“It is.” He kisses her again then and moves down to press kisses across her stomach. A soft kiss here, a little nip there, soothed with the flat of his tongue. He makes his way up to her chest as he pushes her shirt up.

She tosses it off again. It’s not like she hasn’t been half naked with him already and Rey is not a patient person. Ben laughs against the skin at the curve of one breast and she arches into him. “I get the point,” he murmurs against her and then takes a nipple into his mouth. He sucks a little too hard at first, but gentles when she asks him to.

He’s attentive, changing the motion of his tongue when she lets out a gasp, scraping his teeth across the sensitive bud and then again when she gives an indication that she likes the feel of it.

None of this should surprise her, really. He’s so attentive to every nuance of the music he plays, that why _wouldn’t_ he be an attentive lover. He plays her like he does his fiddle, with the utmost care, but drive and determination.

It’s not long before she’s pulled his shirt off and he’s stripping her pants down her legs. When she lets her legs fall open and he pushes aside her panties, he finds her already wet. She feels more than hears him groan against her chest when he finds it. One finger pushes inside her, his thumb grazing over her clit and she frantically reaches down to pull her underwear off.

And then she’s spread before him, completely naked and at his mercy. He watches her and his eyes are wide, the pupils blown wide.  “I…” he starts to say, clears his throat. “God, this is fucking embarrassing.”

She threads her hands through the silken strands of his hair. She loves the way it feels in her hands, against her stomach and chest. She hopes he’ll never cut it.

His words finally get through to her as he lays there, watching her. “Wait…what is?” If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s her. Her legs are spread wide in front of him, her cunt on full display. She can’t remember the last time she even trimmed anything down there. It’s not like she went out to the store that day expecting to end up in bed with anyone.

“I’ve never done this before.”

She pushes herself up on her elbows. “Really?” His lips are fucking _made_ for this and  the longer she lays there spread out before him like the meal he’s hesitant to sample, the wetter she gets at the thought.

“I…” He clears his throat. “Let’s just say my experience is rather limited.”

“Yeah? Well, mine is too,” she admits. “And moment of truth? No one has ever done this before.”

His eyebrows shoot up at that. “I guess there’s no one to compare me to then,” he mutters.

“Nope!”

“Well, then…” He leans forward and his nose bumps against her clit. She jumps slightly at the contact. “Sorry.”

“No…”

He laughs then and the feeling of his breath ghosting over her makes her head fall back slightly.

“Just…if you hate anything, you’ll tell me?”

She nods and lays back on the bed. It’s…a little weird, to be honest. For a moment she feels like she’s at the gynecologist’s office, with her legs spread before someone. But then he _licks_ her and that feeling is gone in a flash.

“Holy fuck!”

“Was that ok?” He sounds so damned concerned. She doesn’t know what she expected from him, really. It’s not like she spent any time imagining how he might be in bed.

Ok, maybe she spent a _little_ time on it. He _is_ attractive after all. And talented.

“ _Yes_. Do it again.”

And he does. Again, and again. He tries different ways, using the flat of his tongue, the tip. There’s nothing he does that she _doesn’t_ like, but there are some things, like when he wraps his lips around her clit ( _dear God, he can actually_ find _it_ ) and sucks that makes strange noises come out of her throat and makes reach down and tangle her hands in his hair, gripping a little tighter than she probably would have..

Thank God for sensitive musician types, because he picks up on what _that_ means right away and does it again, making use of a surprisingly talented tongue.

And still she needs more.

Just that tiny bit more.

She can’t even speak because _fuck_ it’s probably the most amazing thing she’s ever felt, the warmth of his tongue, the pressure from his lips, but she needs _more_. And so she reaches down and grabs one of his hands, bringing it up to her cunt.

He reads her like a damned book. How does he do that? And inserts one long, thick finger, then a second, crooks them both against her inside and that’s _it_ , she comes with a sound she’s never ever heard from herself before.

He rides out her orgasm and is still using his tongue on her as she comes down. She tugs at his hair, pulling him away from her. “Too sensitive.” The words barely make it out of her mouth.

“Wow,” she hears him murmur. “That was…”

“Yeah.” She pushes back up on her elbows to watch him. His face is covered in her juices and it’s a strangely erotic thing. He reaches up and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “You liked it?”

He smiles up at her and nods. “More than I expected.”

“Did you…I mean…it _was_ something you wanted to do?”

“It was something I was curious about, but…” He shrugs. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, you’re good at it.”

He laughs at that. “That’s…you know…good to know I guess. For the future?”

With her, she hopes. “Come up here.” She touches his shoulder briefly, as if she could actually move him up onto the bed with her.

He does so easily, coming to lay at her side, one hand touching her breast, tracing down her stomach. He almost touches her between her legs again, but she closes them up. She’s still very sensitive there and she’s pretty sure if he touches her, it might actually hurt a little.

One of her hands comes down to rest on the belt he’s still wearing. “You’re over-dressed.”

“We don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to.”

She smirks and palms him through his pants. “I think it’s time to put those condoms you bought to good use.”

He nods and stands then, pulling his pants down. She can see where he’s tenting his underwear and…well, yes that’s off now too and she stares.

“What?” He holds his hands up in front of himself and she can see the flush that’s started on his cheeks make its way down his pale chest.

“Just…is it wrong of me to say that’s impressive?”

“Oh…I…” His voice trails off and Rey almost laughs… _almost_. It’s not like she’s lying or anything. She’s been with a few guys over the years, so it’s not like she has _no_ experience, but they’ve always been pretty average in that department.

But not Ben.

No, not at all. She supposes it shouldn’t surprise her as everything _else_ about him is big. But still, it’s the largest cock she’s seen outside of the few porn flicks she’d watched with college friends. “It’s a damned good thing I’m so fucking wet,” she says and then wants to cover her _own_ face with her hands because she so did _not_ mean to say that out loud. “Oh, just get over here and fuck me already?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” He has a ridiculously huge grin on his face as he gets on the bed, kneeling between her spread legs. He pauses there, one hand stroking patterns on the inside of her thigh. “Do you want to be on top? I mean…in case…” His voice trails off and Rey can’t help but find the whole thing endearing.

“This is fine. Just…go slow at first? It’s been awhile and you’re…you know… _big_.”

He nods and reaches over her to where the box of condoms sits on the table near his bed. He makes quick work of opening one of the foil packets and only fumbles a little while putting it over his cock. _He’s out of practice_. And damn if she doesn’t find that weirdly arousing.

And then he’s lined up with her. “Guide me?”

Her eyes meet his as she reaches down to grasp the base of his cock. He sucks in a deep breath at the contact, but his eyes don’t leave hers. She guides him to her opening and he presses in. Just the tip.

And _fuck_. He’s really large. She knows this. She’s _seen_ it, but she moves her hand up and places it on his abdomen.

“Slow,” he says. “I know.” He leans down to kiss her. Soft and slow. She melts into him, letting their mouths linger together for a couple minutes as her body gets used to the stretch.

“You can move,” she says as he pulls his mouth away from hers.

And he does, pressing forward slowly. There’s only a tiny twinge of what she might consider pain. It’s more uncomfortable than outright painful really, a bit more of a stretch than she’s used to.

His eyes don’t leave hers as he presses forward and then finally… _finally_ …he’s fully inside her. He stills then, waiting.

She knows it has to be killing him.

It’s been a long time and she’s sure his body is screaming to _move_ , to get there fast, _take her_.  But he doesn’t. He’s sweating above her, his hands holding his chest above her, keeping him from crushing her completely, cock buried balls deep in her. She can see the muscles straining on his chest.

She takes a deep breath and nods.

He makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat and then gathers her up in his arms as he pulls out and thrusts back in. And _fuck_ if it isn’t a glorious feeling. It’s unexpected, that. She expects it to continue to hurt, but as he thrusts into her, long and slow, it becomes something _more_.

It’s not just fucking. She doesn’t know how she didn’t see that before. If it _had_ been, that would have all come crashing down around them the moment they realized they didn’t have condoms. But no, they had to rush off, get some, pick up where they left off.

“You feel… _fuck_.” She thrills to the way he can’t quite get the words out. “I want you to come again.”

She wraps her legs around him as he pounds into her, wrapping herself around him. “No need,” she manages to gasp out.

“Dammit, Rey,” he mutters against her neck.

“Just come, Ben. Fuck!” The last is said as he switches positions slightly, reaching down under her to grab her ass. He hits a new spot, deep in her somewhere, and holy fuck, it feels amazing. The drag of his cock inside her, as he picks up speed, the feel of his hands keeping her steady, her wrapped around him. With every thrust, his pelvis hits her clit and she feels everything tighten.

“I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Don’t…” But she’s close, _so close_ , and she’s not sure she wants him to come. Not just yet.

She pulls him tighter against her and now his pelvis grinds against her clit as his thrusts go shallower, keeping him there exactly where she needs him. She’s wet, wetter than she’s ever been, and the sounds as he thrusts are almost obscene. She should feel embarrassed, but she _doesn’t_.

She shouts his name as her whole body tightens up suddenly and then her orgasm washes over her. Her second. And the first time she’s ever had _two_ in one session, the first time she’s ever actually come just from sex alone.

“Fuck!” And then his thrusts go erratic, his hands grip her harder, and then with one final thrust, he holds still inside her. His lips are on her neck as he comes and he bites down, just slightly, and it might be the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced.

She’s still shaking slightly as she comes down from her orgasm, her legs untangling from around him. He comes down to rest on his elbows, his face still buried in her neck.

“Well, fuck,” Rey finally manages to say and is surprised at how hoarse her voice is.

“Yeah,” Ben murmurs against her, his breath hot on her neck.

He finally reaches down and pulls himself out, tossing the condom in the trash bin at the side of his bed and sliding off to the side of her. She feels cold for a moment, but then he wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer to him.

She’s wrapped up tight against him when she feels his lips at her temple. “That was…” he starts to say.

“I know.” She reaches up to touch his shoulder, run her hand down his chest.

“I don’t really do this,” he murmurs.

“No? Me neither,” she admits.

“So you…”

“Feel it? Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” The word is slightly slurred. She can hear his heartbeat slowing beneath where her head rests.

She pushes up a moment later to study him. His eyes are half open, heavy-lidded and sleepy. His hair is a wreck, sweaty and plastered to the side of his face. He’s still flushed. And he’s absolutely beautiful.

And then he grins. And laughs, just a little.

“What?” she asks. His hand reaches up and lightly touches her neck. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” he says and he’s still grinning. The cat that ate the canary and all that. “We’re gonna have some explaining to do at session this week.”

“Maybe it’ll be gone by then?”

“Highly unlikely.”

They stare at each other for a moment and then _she_ is laughing too. It’s not like Finn doesn’t know. She supposes the others will find out eventually.

She curls up by his side then and closes her eyes. She’s still smiling when she drifts off to sleep.


	8. Epilogue

“You ready for this?” Rey asks. Ben is holding her hand as they stand outside the pub. There haven’t exactly been a lot of conversations about what they are. Just that…they’re something. Rey is going to move out of the youth hostel she’s been staying at, find a real place to live.

She’s going to stay.

Ben likes that. He likes that it’s because of _him_ that she’s staying.

No one stays because of Ben Solo. People _leave_ because of Ben Solo. His mother, his father. Well, never mind all that. Rey is going to stay. He doesn’t know how she feels about him. He’s not even sure _she_ knows. It’s all too new and just a little bit scary.

But they’re here.

Together.

“I guess,” she says. She hasn’t covered up the mark he’d left on her neck. It’s there for anyone to see and _know_ what it means.

Ben squeezes her hand and then leads her into the dark interior of the pub. Jimmy is at the bar and just gives them a _look_. Ben shrugs and pulls Rey back to the table.

“You’re late,” Hux says without looking up from his flute.

“We were occupied,” Rey says and Hux’s head shoots up. His mouth is half open.

Poe looks equally dumbstruck. “Rey?” His voice is a bit of a squeak.

“I _told_ you,” Finn says, punching Poe lightly on the arm.

“How was I to know you weren’t lying?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Finn shoots back with.

“Well…”

“Exactly.”

Poe just shakes his head. “So what? Are you guys a couple now or something?”

Rey glances over at Ben and tightens her hand on his.

“Apparently,” Ben answers with.

That’s all that needs to be said. He untangles his hand from hers and takes his usual seat. Rey immediately sits next to him, putting her case on the table next to his. It’s a surprising thing, he thinks, seeing his case next to a drum case. But somehow it all fits.

* * *

Over the next few months, Rey ends up ditching the idea of getting her own place and moves in with Ben. He points out that it’s more than big enough for the two of them and as they’ve come to spend so much of their time together, why not?

Rey can’t find a reason not to move in with him.

She’s actually surprised at just how _well_ they get along, once they moved past the idea of being musical enemies. Their apartment is alive with the sounds of Michael Coleman (Rey learns to find a new love of the intricacies of solo fiddle music) and Lunasa (Ben finally admits that yeah, it really is enjoyable to listen to and maybe the guitar isn’t such a bad thing). They host the occasional house session, much to the annoyance of their neighbors.

Sessions roll on as they have been. Rose, the guitar player that Finn had been crushing on makes a reappearance and Ben doesn’t even try to chase her off.

And much to everyone’s surprise, Finn finally asks her out and she accepts.

And then Poe asks out Finn and _he_ accepts.

Finn admits to her late one night at the diner that they’re all planning on moving in together, and it’s a testament to how much they all love each other that it just seems to _work_. She couldn’t be happier for them.

Hux just sneers at them all and their newfound sense of love. He’s happiest at home, alone, with his flute and his cat. She supposes that they ought to be happy for him, though there’s an edge to the way he speaks of love that tells her that there’s some bitterness behind it. Maybe someday he’ll find love too. If he wants to.

It’s late one night when Rey is lying in bed with Ben. She’s had a simply awful day at the diner, full of rude customers and a few annoying busybodies. Ben’s hand is wrapped around hers and she loves the strength of those calloused fingers. So strong and yet so gentle when it comes to her.

And he has. Gentled, that is. She’s come to see a surprisingly romantic streak from him, late night dinners that he’s made for her when she’s had a long day at the diner, a picnic one Saturday afternoon. He’s kind and sweet to her, and she finds her good cheer rubbing off on him little by little.

“Rey?”

“Yeah?”

He squeezes her hand. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She turns to him then and he’s watching her, wary and clearly terrified.

“Yeah. I know.” His face turns a little white before she gets her next words out. “You know I love you too, right?”

He lets out a breath and then leans over to kiss her, soft and sweet. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

She has a life here, she realizes. Not just Ben, but Finn and Poe, Rose and Hux, even Jimmy the bartender.

She wants to _stay_.

And Rey has never wanted to stay before. She wants to put down roots here, in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere, Upstate New York. It’s a good feeling.

“Yeah,” she says again. “Good.”

Ben wraps her up in his arms, strong and safe and secure. And she feels like she’s come home at long last. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Hmmm?”

“For letting me play.”

Ben lets out a soft huff of laughter and kisses the top of her head. “I’m not sure I had a choice.”

“You didn’t.”

She falls asleep, there in his arms, finally feeling like she really _belongs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Thanks everyone for commenting and all the kudos!! :-)


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